Songs of Winter
by hairsprayheart
Summary: Reflections and regrets during a winter that seems to last a hundred years. Various drabbles and songfics inspired by the works of Coldplay.
1. Don't Panic

**Songs of Winter**

A _Chronicles of Narnia_ Songfic Collection

Chapter One

Don't Panic

AN: As most first chapters are, this is not very good, and mostly goes off of the movie – but that will change in later chapters (I promise). Sorry if it's not to your liking. I tried to do this in the style of the song: vague, rushed, a little heedless. Ironically enough – panicked. Please review; constructive criticism appreciated.

Don't Panic

_Bones, sinking like stones, all that we've fought for_

_Home, places we've grown, all of us are done for_

_We live in a beautiful world, yeah we do, yeah we do_

_We live in a beautiful world_

_They were riding._ It was the end of fall and the beginning of winter in western Narnia. The trees were illuminated with different colors, and the shadows danced across the ground. Their riding apparel kept them warm in the brisk atmosphere. It was colder than it had been in many years, since the war had been won, since the winter had been banished after a reign that had lasted too long. In many ways, this was just an ordinary hunting party, but the prize would be different. They had begun with hounds and courtiers, a rather grand hunting party, but the others had tired. Soon it just the four of them, together, and it was silent but for the sound of their own Horses' hooves crackling on the freshly fallen leaves. The air itself carried a sense of change.

_They were crawling._ They tied their trusty steeds to the saplings – knowing that escape, if necessary, was possible simply by rearing and snapping the trees – and hurried into the low bushes for further pursuit. There was now instilled in them a great desire to fulfill the legends they had been told about this creature, to have their wishes granted. They forced their way into a wood, where everything was overgrown. Small burrs snagged on their clothes and gathered in their hair like dying blossoms. The trees were young and flexible. For a moment the feeble branches clung to them as if trying to hold them back before giving way to their bodies. If not for the rustling of their clothes, they might have heard the soft whispers. For the moment, their only concern was sighting the creature that continued to elude them. In their desperation, they lost sight of the sun amidst the tree line over head. Blindly, they stumbled on. They couldn't see what was ahead of them.

_They were talking._ One did not want to go, but was easily enough persuaded otherwise. After scrambling on their hands and knees to get into the forest, for it was young but thick, there was little wish to struggle through its entrance again so soon, and the thrill of an adventure urged them onwards. There was a moment's hesitation before they made their decision to move on, after this white stag that would grant them their deepest desires, to continue their journey. Partly by pride, and partly in fear that they would be deemed fearful, they petitioned Aslan, and entered the thicket, leaving the iron tree with the hanging lantern behind them.

_They were remembering._ Strange things were popping into their heads: things that weren't in Narnia – a lamppost that they had suddenly recalled the name and purpose of, and thick furry coats that seemed ridiculously fashioned and unnecessary in such warm weather. With each step they took, the branches around them thinned, and their heads grew more crowded with unrelated thoughts that they had not thought for years. All these things seemed strangely familiar, as if they had been in a dream. And then they were no longer in the wood but in something made of wood – a wardrobe.

_They were changing._ The thing most obvious, as they tumbled back into the empty room, was their looks. They could not tell this of themselves, but by looking at each other knew they had reverted to some previous state. They were smaller in size, and their beautiful, elaborate hunting outfits had been replaced with their dirty old play clothes. Their thoughts were muddled, and their mouths would not seem to form any form of speech, but they knew where they were and what had become of them almost immediately. Suddenly, they were no longer adults, no longer royalty, no longer Narnians.

_They were panicking._ It would have been too easy to get back through the wardrobe, though they tried many times that first day back. The boys threw their shoulders into the back of the wardrobe, to no avail, while the girls looked on hopelessly. They were racking their brains for a way to get back. Their spirits and bodies were battered. When it was time to retire for the evening – how insulting it was to have a set bedtime – they did not sleep. One wept, one paced, one mumbled, one prayed. What would become of their kingdom? Of those they had left behind? Everything had been so perfect. Now everything was gone. This place was no longer their home.

_They were surrendering. _For days, they had resisted, but everyone was wondering why they went around with their heads down and their eyes glazed over. They had to tell somebody. They were all going mad, with this heavy burden they had to bear. Who would they tell? They had lost all of those they could have talked to, all those that had mattered to them for so long. They had not seen their mother for what seemed many years, and in all honesty, they had almost forgotten her until now. They were a family within themselves. They could not talk to Mrs. Macready, for she had always been somewhat foreboding, and their childish fear of her had all suddenly returned. There was nobody else in the large house (they had been in larger, but those had not seemed so _empty_). They tried to hide their internal aching, but they knew they were already defeated.

_They were smiling._ It felt so good to do it once more. They were feeling relieved, feeling better, because he smiled back. He listened, and then told his own stories, and treated them like adults – they had a feeling no one would be doing that anymore, for a while. But he also treated them like friends. They all shared a great secret now. They could speak of it to no one else, it was decided. So they had to rely on each other. As they had done before. And that would make everything all right.

_They were surviving._ It was all they could do, now.

_Oh, all that I know, there's nothing here to run from…_

_Yeah, 'cause everyone here's got somebody to lean on_


	2. Trouble

**Songs of Winter**

A _Chronicles of Narnia_ Songfic Collection

Chapter Two

Trouble

AN: This is basically about Edmund's struggle with his past, and how the White Witch still has a hold on him. Very angsty. Song: Trouble, from the album Parachutes (sorry, same album as last chapter. I'll try not to do that). I own nothing of course.

_Oh no, what's this?_

_A spider web, and I'm caught in the middle._

_So I turn to run_

_The thought of all the stupid things I've done._

_Oh, no, I see_

_A spider web and it's tangled up with me_

_So I turn to run_

_But here am I in my little bubble_

_Oh, I never meant to cause you trouble_

_And I never meant to do you wrong_

_Oh, and if I ever caused you trouble…_

_Oh, no, I never meant to do you harm_

At night, sometimes, in their shared room, Peter and Edmund would talk quietly about their adventures in Narnia. For the most part it helped them fall asleep. But Edmund found himself having nightmares, nightmares involving stone statues and magic wands and long imprisonments.

For years, in Narnia, he had nightmares, but as he had grown older they had gone away. Now, as a child once more, he was having them again.

He woke one night feeling as if he couldn't take it anymore.

"Peter," he whispered hoarsely, sitting up. "Peter, please get up."

He was in tears, rocking back and forth on his bed, when he felt his brother's strong arms envelop him. It made him cry all the harder. Peter held him fiercely, as if trying to keep his brother from being lost in a storm. And in truth, that is precisely what it was.

When he had stopped crying long enough and his sobs were reduced to hiccups, he wiped his face quickly with the back of his hand and lay back down, sniffling. Peter positioned himself adjacently, so they were facing each other.

"What's up, Ed?" he said softly.

"I… I'm sorry," Edmund managed, fisting the sheets around his hands in an effort to keep himself from crying some more. "I had a nightmare."

"About the white witch?"

Edmund nodded hopelessly as tears began to run down his cheeks once more.

"Aw, Ed, it's all right," Peter said consolingly, wrapping his arms around him. "You're safe."

"I dreamt that she came back to get me," Edmund choked out. "She got through the wardrobe…" He was sobbing too horribly now to continue.

"She couldn't, really," Peter promised. "Aslan defeated her, permanently. You know that."

"I know," was the miserable reply. "But what about what the Professor told us?"

"Edmund."

"What?"

"Really, Ed, there's nothing to worry about. Aslan is much stronger than her."

There was a gentle knock on their door and Peter rose to open it cautiously. It was Susan.

"By the lion's mane, Peter!" she exclaimed in a whisper. "What on earth are you two doing in there? You've woken Lucy up and she's frightened."

"Ed had a nightmare," Peter said tiredly, trying to cover a yawn with one hand while raking the other through his hair.

"Oh, Edmund," Lucy cried, running through the door. "It's all right." She leapt into the bed with him and gave him a tight squeeze, burying her face into his chest. "What was _your_ bad dream about?"

He sniffed bravely, knowing he was foremost a big brother. "Oh, nothing. Did you have one, too?"

"Yes," Lucy replied, nodding excitedly. "It was about Aslan, actually. I dreamed that the white witch…" She trailed off as she noticed Susan's eyes boring into hers.

"I think we should be getting back into bed now. C'mon, Lu," she said pointedly.

Peter leaned against the doorframe. They were all trying to protect each other. He sighed inwardly. He'd heard his two sisters talking about _it_, once, but Susan made him swear not to tell Edmund, saying it would break his heart. After that, they never discussed the night that Aslan had been killed on the Stone Table so that Edmund's sins could be forgiven. It made Peter's love for Aslan only stronger, and so many times he had wanted to tell his brother about all of it.

"'_Does he know,' whispered Lucy to Susan, 'what Aslan did for him? Does he know what the arrangement with the Witch really was?'_

"'_Hush! No, of course not,' said Susan._

"'_Oughtn't he be told?' said Lucy._

"'_Oh, surely not,' said Susan. 'It would be too awful for him. Think how you'd feel if you were he.'" _(The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, p. 193)

To that day, Edmund had not been told of Aslan's sacrifice for him.

"I'm dreadfully sorry to have woken all of you," Edmund apologized weakly, suddenly looking haggard and tired. Almost old.

"Oh, it's all right," Lucy replied, giving him a bright smile that lit up the dark room. "It reminded me of the old days, when we used to stay up all night together reading." She kissed him on the cheek before she could go off on a longer tangent and bade him goodnight.

"Goodnight, Edmund," Susan said. She kissed him on the forehead maternally. "Don't think too much about the bad."

They left and Peter placed a kiss of his own on top of his brother's head. Then he returned to his bed and lay back, his eyes wide open as he saw constellations on the ceiling and Bacchus dancing on the wall. He listened as Edmund's breathing slowed, indicating his entrance into sleep. Then Peter began to cry himself, silently, in the darkness.

_What did you do to him?_ he asked a witch that wasn't there. _How could you have hurt him so?_

Edmund relaxed when his sisters left and his brothers climbed into bed. He pretended to fall asleep, so Peter would be able to. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he thought of all that the white witch had done. She had left him, his family, and Aslan forever changed. They thought he didn't know about Aslan's sacrifice, but the two of them had discussed it before, back in Narnia. _Narnia_. He doubled over in his bed, trying to be stifle the loud sobs that were threatening to escape his mouth.

_Why did you do this to us?_ he wondered about the witch.

_Why did you do that for me?_ he wondered about Aslan.

For years he had grappled with the concept of good versus evil that loomed so presently in his own life. The witch had changed him forever, unearthing an evil side that he was unaware he had (making him turn in his own family, betraying all of them) as well as forcing himself to rebel against that evil and ultimately unearth the good. It had taken him a long time to understand why Aslan had done what he had done, and he sometimes still felt her grip tightening on him once again. It had been so easy for her to manipulate him. He had been trapped by his own stupidity. It still haunted him.

Oh, he had mucked everything up so badly. He saw how Susan suffered, trying to make everything seem perfect when it was so far from it. He saw how Peter looked old – not like a strong man, or a king; someone defeated, someone that has given up. He saw how Lucy acted differently sometimes, as if the light had left her eyes for a moment, whenever someone talked about darkness. He could no longer blame the witch; only himself.

Peter's own tears continued to flow freely as he thought of all Edmund had gone through and was still going through. He wished so badly he could have protected him. It was all his fault.

Figuring Peter was asleep, Edmund began to shake with his sobs, convulsing in the thin sheets that wrapped around him like spider thread. He had hurt his family and Aslan. And now he could never fix them. It was all his fault.

_They spun a web for me_

_They spun a web for me_


	3. A Message

**Songs of Winter**

A _Chronicles of Narnia_ Sonfic Collection

Chapter Three

A Message

**AN: This is one of my favorite songs and I'd been thinking about it for a long time. Aslan speaks to Tumnus, and Tumnus cries out to him, for Lucy. (You may sense the love as platonic or not; I purposely tried to make it seem somewhat ambiguous, so it can go either way.) The writing is slightly choppy, because I thought it would fit Tumnus' shy, simple personality.**

_My song is love; love to the loveless, shown. _

_And it goes up – you don't have to be alone. _

It was winter in Narnia, the coldest winter it had ever been. The snow fell silently, quieting and stilling everything in its path. Narnia had never seemed so empty, and its creatures had never felt more alone.

Tumnus the Faun was one of these creatures. Isolated in his small cottage at the edge of Lantern Waste, he was holed up by himself, with only stories and dreams to pass his days until he died. No other Animals other came to see him, save the occasional visit from Beaver, whose stories of the one they called Aslan seemed distant and unreal. The faun was too consumed with other thoughts to hold onto any hope that there even was an Aslan. He had heard stories as a child, when times were good and there was sunshine. But now… Fear chilled his heart worse than any icicle, as he was struck daily with the notion that _she_ was at his door, ready to kill him for any minor offense.

The first time he saw the White Witch, she almost seemed beautiful, in a cruel, violent sort of way. But when she took him by the horns and gripped his tail, her eyes bored into his with an intensity and fury he had not known before. He was too frightened to speak when she commanded him to obey her, and so he lost his long, beautiful tail. Though he hated her, he could not bring himself to defy her.

Sometimes, he looked out the window and saw a tawny streak flash run through the trees, or a patch of green shooting up from beneath the snow. But he was too afraid of disappointment to hope, and he was too proud of his own life to be strong.

He returned to his home in disgrace, his tail short and his wit shorter. But his lack of pride was less evident than his lack of hope. He lay in anguish, the pain of his lost tail eclipsed only by his loneliness and worry.

The first time he really believed in Aslan was when he saw Lucy Pevensie's face.

It was the most wonderful thing he had ever seen. It gave him hope that maybe someone out there really was taking care of him; maybe his distrust of the Witch was truly justified; maybe help was on the way. Maybe Beaver was right. Maybe the Lion really _was_ real.

Maybe he didn't really deserve to be alone.

And then, she was gone. As suddenly as she came, she had to go. He could have died for almost betraying her, and he could have died knowing that she would never see her again. And, in fact, he really almost did die.

_Your heavy heart is made of stone_

_And it's so hard to see you clearly_

_You don't have to be on your own, _

_You don't have to be on your own. _

_My song is love,_

_My song is love, unknown. _

_I'm on fire for you... _

_You don't have to be on your own_.

The first thing he saw when he was woken from his stone slumber was her face. Not even Aslan's, but hers. The experience was not unlike than the first time he had felt himself awake from his despair. Her face was like the sun, illuminating within him happiness and hope again. It was like he was a young Faun once more, discovering new things and living without fear. His new zest for life, for Lucy, and for Aslan woke in him a flame, where before there had only been ice and pain and fear. He could have won battles that day. He had never felt more alive than when he so nearly escaped death.

He realized, deep down, that he had always believed in Aslan. His faith had wavered and hidden, and he was ashamed for quaking so in the face of death. But he remembered all the things that Beaver had told him, and treasured them. The fact that Aslan had died for Lucy's brother made him feel all the braver for doing the same. It was like they had something in common, and it strengthened him.

Aslan talked to him, before the coronation. He even thanked him. _He_ thanked _him_! Aslan told Tumnus that He realized how much he had struggled, and was glad that he had finally made the right decision. He was glad that Tumnus had taken care of Lucy, and He promised that she, too, would take care of him; just as He also would forever. When Aslan left that night, Tumnus was at peace.

Life was so beautiful. Everything was sunshine and joy. Though Aslan had gone away for the present, he still could feel Him, and His love. He spent days, weeks, months at Cair Paravel, drinking in Lucy's friendship like it was the finest of wines. It pained him greatly when he had to travel to the north. But to make it up to her, he told her stories – her smile made it all right again – about the white Stag. He wondered what Lucy would wish for, and he wished her a safe journey after her heart's greatest desires.

But then, suddenly and painfully, she was gone once more.

_And I'm gonna stand and wait, _

_Not gonna leave here till it's much too late. _

_On a platform I'm gonna stand and say, _

_That I'm nothing on my own… _

_And I love you, please come home._

He was not completely hopeless. There was always some remnant of belief that Aslan would bring Lucy back to him. He held onto it until he was a frail old Faun, when his tears glistened on a white beard like fresh snow falling on a meadow. Aslan knew things, after all, that he would never know; and he took comfort in this. Aslan's great wisdom and mercy were boundless. But Aslan did not return, and neither did Lucy.

_Someday, though_, he kept telling himself. Someday, he would see her again. Someday, he would tell her everything. Someday, things would be happy again. Someday…

_My song is love, is love unknown. _

_Got to get that message home_.


	4. Clocks

**Songs of Winter**

A _Chronicles of Narnia_ Songfic Collection

Chapter Four

Clocks

_Lights go out and I can't be saved;  
Tides that I tried to swim against,  
You've put me down upon my knees,  
Oh I beg, I beg and plead._

Come out of things unsaid,  
Shoot an apple off my head.  
Trouble that can't be named,  
Tigers waiting to be tamed.

You are, you are… 

Susan had a love/hate relationship with time.

It had been two months since they had left Narnia, but to her, it seemed an eternity. And the fifteen years they had spent there had been undone in one moment. Why, oh why, did time have to be so cruel and fickle?

Sometimes she couldn't bear to look at the clock. It was a reminder of how long they had been away. If fifteen years in Narnia was a single moment elapsed here, how much could have gone awry there in the time of two months? And, what would it be like, when they went back? _If_ they went back? It was at times like these that Susan hated the clock. The only way she could hide from its glare was to turn out the lights. So she would sit on the corner of her bed and weep in the darkness.

And yet, there where moments where she studied the clock. She stared at it for minutes at a time, watching the hands intently, waiting for a sign. Waiting to go back to her real home. The clock was her one of her only reminders that there had _been_ a Narnia, for though she had never been very good in school, she could very carefully calculate the months, weeks, days, hours, minutes it had been since they had gone. If only she could find an equation that would tell her when they could go back.

If she was still like she had used to be (and she most surely hoped she wasn't, for the ways in which Narnia had changed her were innumerable) she would have tried to "be logical". But there was no logic in this. That is, there had been logic, in Narnia – it was where they lived, where they ruled, where they thrived. Everybody in Narnia had loved Narnia, and they had loved their rulers, had loved Aslan, too. But nobody here would believe in Narnia, or in Aslan. There was no way to be logical about this, for, in reality, the things she had lost were essentially nonexistent in the opinions of everyone here. It was true, there was nothing like them anywhere else, anywhere other than Narnia. (How could she have once wanted to be like them, _been_ like them, these small-minded bigots who believed only they were right, and would not dare to think for one moment that there might be something out there beyond themselves!) Though the loss may not have been tangible, _here_, it still managed to bring her to her knees, a tide of emotions flooding over her like a wave at the seaside. She tried to resist, but the sea was always stronger. Swimming away would only drown her. Her own salty wetness came in numbers as great as that of the ocean itself when she finally gave in to her emotions.

She had used to be so strong. She had been a _queen_, one the entire Narnian kingdom had loved and admired. But that hadn't mattered, not _really_. It had been what here brothers and sister thought of her that mattered. What Aslan thought of her. _Once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen of Narnia_, **He** had said. Oh, if only! An always sounded so wonderful right now, as long as it wasn't in the same sentence as "in England". She had tried to be strong, for Edmund, for Lucy, even for Peter. But was it helping? It seemed as if she was only making things worse. She always made things worse.

Every night, she prayed. She didn't even know if there was an Aslan here, but she prayed anyway. Or perhaps more of a pleading than a praying. She _begged_ to go back to Narnia. She poured her heart out, there on the floor in front of something she couldn't see. What was left unsaid hurt her the most, for there was never a reply. At least, not one that she could hear.

_Confusion never stops, _

_Closing walls and ticking clocks,_

_Come back and take you home,_

_I could not stop what you know. _

_Come out upon my seas,_

_Curse missed opportunities. _

_Am I a part of the cure, _

_Or a part of the disease? _

_You are… _

She couldn't name this feeling, couldn't get rid of it. There was a perpetual confusion, a desire to belong and a knowing that she couldn't, not anymore. She didn't belong in England, certainly – there was no place for more than one Queen _here_, even though there had been four monarchs that had ruled quite well… before. She thought she might be mad at Aslan for sending them away, or at least for allowing them to go away. But she couldn't be mad, not at Him, not _really_, for she wanted to go back to Him so badly it hurt.

Finchley wasn't home. The Professor's house in the countryside was not home, either. Where was home? In the wardrobe? In Narnia? Her conscience nagged at her to say where her family was, but in truth, not even they could buoy her spirits these days. There was only one being that could have been defined as home, and that would be Him. So, no, she couldn't be mad at Him. He was all she wanted. And she could no longer have Him. At least, not for now.

It almost killed her, the waiting. For of all the virtues Susan possessed, patience was most certainly not one them. But hope was. So she clung to the fact that they must, _must_ return.

And so she waited, and watched the clocks.

_And nothing else compares, _

_No nothing else compares… _

_You are… _

_Home, home, _

_Where I wanted to go… _

_Home, home, _

_Where I wanted to go…_


	5. Fix You

**Songs of Winter**

A _Chronicles of Narnia_ Songfic Collection

Chapter Five

Fix You

_And the tears come streaming down your face_

_When you lose something you can't replace_

_When you love someone but it goes to waste_

_What could be worse?_

Lucy sat on the window seat and pressed her hand to the glass. She relished the way the cold distracted her from the iciness within her heart. She looked out, but it was like trying to peer through a mirror. Water streaked across the windowpane in the same way tears made tracks down her peaked cheeks.

It wasn't cold enough to snow. _Of course it couldn't be snowing_, she thought, with some bitterness. (When had she let herself become so bitter? She hadn't used to be.) _There's something magical about snow. And there's no magic here._

She was like an icicle; frozen and broken. The warmth of springtime and happiness had left her. She lay snapped on the ground, forgotten by time and sunshine. The others were in school, now, and she was alone; so dreadfully alone.

It couldn't be said how long she sat there, staring out at the bleak nothingness and despairing at the emptiness of herself. There had used to be something there, but not anymore.

Losing Narnia wasn't like leaving a doll at a friend's house or dropping a sweetie beneath the table. Nothing in the world, _nothing in this world_, was like it. She couldn't compare it to anything else. So when she didn't have it anymore, she couldn't fill that void with anything else.

There had been a dull hope that they would return. It was still there, limping along with the rhythm of her heart. But who was to say how? Or when? Or even why? It was hard to say whether or not it would matter anymore, really. Even if they did get back, she would be changed.

She had dreams, sometimes. There were sometimes nightmares, too. But she had dreams of embracing him, and she could hear his gentle laugh, and feel his warm fur against her. He wasn't gone, exactly. He was still with her, in her heart. But her heart was cold and empty otherwise. He was all she thought of most of the time. She wondered if he still thought of her. Of course he did.

She was being horribly selfish, she knew. But she was a child and nobody really cared anyway.

Of course, she hadn't always been a child. But nobody really cared anymore. (Like they would believe her if she told them anyway.)

Her siblings were her refuge. They cared. More importantly, they believed.

_And high up above or down below_

_When you're too in love to let it go_

_If you never try you'll never know_

_Just what you're worth_

She would not forget. She must never forget. Even if she could no longer be in Narnia, it was still her home. It would always be her home. She loved it. Even in her young mind, and in the young heart that adored absolutely _everything_, it was something special and irreplaceable. He was, too.

She had looked, so many times, for ways to get back. She'd tried the wardrobe again, firstly, multiple times. Then there had been her heartfelt pleas to Aslan. She had spoken with the Professor about it, but he didn't know, either. She'd searched high and low for answers. If Narnia was heaven, this was most certainly hell.

Narnia had filled her, and now that she didn't have it, she felt empty. Who was she? She was Lucy Pevensie, child, victim of war, younger sister of Peter, Susan, and Edmund, daughter of Helen. That was her identity: determined by everyone else. She was really nobody, other than in relation to somebody else. She wanted to be somebody! (When had she become so selfish?)

It was true, that he had used to define her, too. But he hadn't judged her. He hadn't expected her not to cry. She had cried on him many times, actually. Here, it was discouraged, crying. She was always expected to keep a brave face. Her mum hadn't wanted them to cry when they'd been sent away. But it was not being sent away from _that _home that had hurt her so deeply inside, badly enough to make her cry like this on an almost daily basis – it was being sent away from their _other_ home, _their_ real one, now.

_Lights will guide you home_

_And ignite your bones_

_And I will try to fix you_

She cried in earnest now, rocking back and forth. It didn't matter who saw her; nobody would see her. She fisted her hands in her dress, then opened them up, begging for mercy from Aslan. But just as the cold air swept between her fingers, something hot was thrust into them.

It was a mug of cocoa, brought by Susan. She eagerly took a sip, and it warmed her to her core. She sniffled bravely and looked into her sister's eyes. Susan looked sympathetic, not scolding. She still looked like a queen, standing straight and tall and regal. It was a good thing Lucy was not still expected to be a queen; surely none would behave like this. Surely he wouldn't want her to behave like this. She set the mug aside, collapsing into tears once more.

Susan held her while she cried, rocking with her like a mother rocking a child – she was a child. And then, Peter was there, and Edmund, too. And she didn't care that they saw her crying, because she knew they would understand. It was very possible that they would be crying too.

She wasn't sure what made her siblings so special. It would have been enough that they had shared with her that wondrous adventure. But it went beyond that. They had protected her, loved her. Just as they were doing now. They were fixing her.

When they were with her, she felt safe, and warm, and whole.


End file.
